


Boy Interrupted

by TheOtherWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2019-08-20 12:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherWinchester/pseuds/TheOtherWinchester
Summary: Sam is suicidal.





	Boy Interrupted

It was the third day in a row that Sam had isolated himself from everyone. He hadn’t gone to school. He hadn’t left the house. He hadn’t even left his room. And it was going unnoticed by an absent father and a preoccupied brother. 

Sam didn’t feel human. He felt like an animal. A soldier. A mindless drone that couldn’t do anything for himself. He just had to do what everyone else told him to. It was suffocating. He felt caged. Angry. Dangerous. He felt like he was going insane. Or becoming a monster. 

He walked out into the narrow hallway, heading toward the kitchen to get himself something to eat. He looked in the freezer noticing the half empty bottle of Bacardi that was left over from one of John’s binges. Dad would be pissed, but who cares? He can’t do anything about it anyway. He chugged it in seconds. Sam opened the last can of Heineken, that he found hidden in the fridge. 

The fact that he was already buzzed went ignored by him. He was a one man wrecking machine, and he was on a mission. For once, he would get to make the choice. He had to go through with it quickly, though. Dean would be back in forty minutes. Unless he stopped somewhere to chase some tail. 

Sam walked into the small bathroom he shared with Dean. Even now, he didn’t feel comfortable invading John’s space. He set his beer down on the counter and started his shower water, so it would be warm by the time he got in. 

20 minutes. Sam stood in front of the mirror, just staring at his reflection. His eyes were glazed over, his lips were chapped and his hair was messy from not being brushed in over a week. He didn’t- couldn’t- wouldn’t recognize himself. 

15 minutes. He found what he was looking for. A razor. It was old, but it didn’t look too rusty. Not that he had to worry about getting Tetanus. The beer on the counter looked tempting, but he had to be coherent to do this. 

10 minutes. He got in the shower and started stripping off the clothes he’d been wearing for the past three days, downing the rest of his beer afterward. He grabbed the blade he took out of the razor and let the warm water beat down on his tense muscles. He played around with the blade, stroking it almost lovingly. His thoughts went to his brother. Dean would be the one to find him. Hopefully he’d find the note first. Maybe then he would understand. It was a vain hope, though. Nobody would understand. Especially not Dean. 

5 minutes. Sam ran the blade across his wrist, breaking the skin. It wasn’t too deep, just deep enough to actually bleed. He watched the crimson liquid flow down his arm. He played with it, chasing it with his fingers. He watched it hit the floor of the shower, turning pink after mixing with the foam that was gathering at the drain. He watched it go down the drain just like everything else in his life. He took the blade to his other wrist, cutting deeper this time. He felt woozy, but that was expected. He slashed his left wrist one more time before he heard a door open. His time ran out.

He heard Dean call his name but it seemed like nothing more than a word. It wasn’t an identity. It wasn’t who he was. What he was. It was like a number on a prisoner's uniform. There was nothing unique or special about it. Just something to help differentiate him from everyone else. 

Dean must’ve found the letter faster than Sam expected because he hauled ass into the bathroom, and he grabbed Sam just as he was losing consciousness. Sam heard him say something, but he couldn’t understand it. Dean pulled Sam out of the shower, and then everything went black. 

~~***~~

He woke up sometime later, dressed in Dean’s old pajamas, and stitched up. Dean must’ve stitched him up, because even though it got the job done, some of the stitches were crooked. Dean had his arm wrapped around him, lying next to him in his own bed, and shaking from unheard sobs. Sam’s shirt was drenched, probably from Dean’s tears.   
“Damn it, Sammy. Don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me. You can’t- you can’t leave.” he choked out. “I thought I lost you, I thought you left me. I couldn’t- you can’t-” his sentence was left unfinished, but not unheard. Sam must’ve moved unintentionally or made a noise, because Dean looked down and noticed his eyes were open. Sam curled up closer to his big brother, his eyes starting to water. He was remembering what he did. What he planned to do. What Dean stopped from happening. 

They were laying together, just a mass of tangled limbs. Dean couldn’t seem to get close enough to Sam. He had to know Sam was okay. That he was alive. Breathing. Dean was touching Sam everywhere. His arms, his face, his chest. Just making sure Sam was real and that this wasn’t a horribly vivid dream. His ear was pressed up to Sam’s chest, so he could hear Sam’s heart. He wanted to know it was beating. 

“Why’d you do it, Sam? Why would you do this to me?” He asked. He was barely coherent because his throat was so torn up from all of the crying. His eyes were still watering. He wanted to understand Sam’s motives, but he couldn’t. It was so unlike Sam. He thought it was, anyway. There’s no telling how long he’d been planning it, or how long he’d been cutting himself for coping purposes. “What did I do? What did I not do? What do you need? What were you thinking?” He asked, burying his head in Sam’s chest, breathing in the scent of soap and blood. 

Sam started crying, really crying, now. He couldn’t explain to Dean how he was feeling. Why he would try to kill himself. He could try, but he knew that the words would never do his thoughts justice. He would try though, for his brother’s sake. “It’s just- I’m not- I’m barely human, Dean. The way we were raised? I can’t get close to people, because I know that I’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks, off to another school and another shitty hotel room. I’m going to leave, just to be alone all the time. There’s no point in getting close to people or doing anything with anybody. There’s no point in trying to.” 

“Sam, I’m always here for you. You know that.” Dean said in a sad tone. 

“That’s the thing, Dean. You’re not. You’re never here. You’re always out getting girls or helping dad or working. It’s been that way since I was old enough to take care of myself. Since I can remember. “ Sam answered, his bottom lip quivering. “I’m just a burden that’s been on your shoulders since we were kids, Dean. I’m no good to anyone. I can’t do anything. I’m not good at anything that’ll make dad proud.”

“Sam, dad’s proud of you. He’s more proud than you will ever know.” Dean replied while stroking his brothers stitches. The medication was probably wearing off, so he’d have to get Sam some more meds soon. 

Sam gave an answering scoff, but he didn’t want to start an argument. Not right now. Not when they were like this. He was finally talking to Dean for the first time, saying more than a couple words here and there, for weeks. He didn’t want to screw it up over how disappointed their dad was in him. It wasn’t worth it. Dean pushed some of Sam’s shaggy hair behind his ear, as a comforting gesture. “Are you in pain, Sammy?” he asked, concern in his voice. 

Sam looked his brother in the eyes, wondering what was going through his head. “No. I’m okay.” he answered, a little too quickly, but there was no way Dean would get him to take the pills if he didn’t want to. Sam was shivering though, not surprisingly considering he was only covered by a thin sheet. Dean pulled his blanket up around them, refusing to let Sam out of his sight. There was no way he was going to give his brother the chance to do this again. 

“Dean.” Sam whispered, already half asleep again. “Don’t tell dad, okay?” Dean looked at his brother in shock. Not wanting to get Sam upset, he promised not to tell John about it. 

“Yeah. Okay, Sammy. I won’t.” He said, gripping Sam to him protectively. He held onto his brother until Sam fell asleep. When he heard the sound of deep breaths he leaned over to the end table and grabbed the sheet of paper that was laying on it. He read the last sentence over and over, trying to make himself believe it. 

“It’s not your fault, Dean.”


End file.
